Arthur Fonzarelli, PI
by Petah
Summary: Ralph discovers a body in his apartment building and Fonzie helps the police find the culprit.
1. A Shock For Ralph

A/N: Okay, this is my first non-oneshot, so keep that in mind. Also keep in mind that this is only chapter one, and I would appreciate feedback. Which direction you'd like the story to go in, etc. Anyway, without further ado, here's the story!

Disclaimer: I don't own Happy Days or any related characters.

* * *

It was a cold autumn night in Milwaukee. Ralph Malph walked back to the apartment he shared with Potsie, carrying a brand new microwave oven under his right arm. His left hand was fiddling around in his pocket in search oh his keys.

Ralph sang the first line of his favourite song, "Blueberry Hill", in preparation for a joke. "I found my three-ull," he sang, intentionally going flat a note at the end. "Oh, guess I'm out of key," he said to himself, chuckling at himself while still searching for his keys. "Hehe, even alone at midnight I still got it!"

By the time Ralph made it to the apartment building, he had given up on finding his keys. He was getting impatient. He really wanted to show Potsie what he'd bought! Microwaves had been around for a little while, and still weren't very popular. They were cutting-edge technology, and they cost a fortune. Ralph had been saving his paycheck for months to buy one. He wanted it to be a surprise.

As Ralph approached the door to his apartment, he hoped that Potsie was inside; he had no desire to remain outside until his roommate returned. "Hey, Pots! It's Ralph! Let me in!" Ralph called, pounding on the door. "Must be in the can. . ." he muttered to himself, and went off in search of Chachi. He had access to the keys to every apartment, since his mother was the landlady.

Stepping into the stairwell, Ralph noticed a middle-aged looking man passed out in the corner, bottle in his hand and alcohol on his breath.

"Honestly, some people. . ." Ralph continued muttering, but then felt a cold shiver run down his spine as he realized what he had seen. He took a good look at the man this time. The stubble on his face was at least three days old. His hat was pulled down over his eyes and nose, to hide the lifelessness of them. The bottle was held near his chest, and Ralph now noticed why. There was a deep gash in this man's abdomen. He had been killed.

"Can you just calm down and tell us what you saw?" Luitenant Kensington asked Ralph impatiently. He had shown up at the apartment building when Ralph called in the incident.

"I told you all I know! I just walked up to the guy on the stairs and called it in," Ralph answered frantically, wrapped in a blanket provided by one of the junior officers on the force.

"Alright, son. We'll let you go for now. But don't leave town or nothin'. We may have further questions."

"Yes, thank you officer," Ralph said, and went back to his apartment accompanied by Potsie, who had heard about the incident and came as soon as he had.

"Well, from what the kid told us, we can assume this was a suicide," Kensington told his superior, Commissioner Hunt. "The victim was alone, with no signs of struggle, and the murder weapon in his hand. We'll have Dr. Benson do an autopsy to confirm the murder weapon, of course, but I think it's pretty obvious."

"Yeah, I think it's safe to call this a suicide," Hunt replied.

Suddenly, a thump was heard on the wall in the hallway wall, and the locked door came open to reveal none other than Arthur Fonzarelli, leather jacket and all. "This was no suicide," the Fonz called out for all to hear. "This, was a murder."


	2. A Chat With Chachi

A/N: Chapter two, for those of you that've been waiting for it. which isn't many. But I can't complain, this show is 30 years old. And, a thank you, to my beta, Hannaford.

Disclaimer: Happy Days and all related characters belong the the brilliant creator of that TV show, and not I.

* * *

"Alright, Fonzarelli, how'd you get in here? Police officials only behind the yellow tape," Kensington asked, annoyed. Arthur Fonzarelli always did what he wanted, when he wanted, and somehow never managed to break any laws. This annoyed the hell out of him.

"Please, call me Fonzie," Fonzie replied, disregarding the question that was asked of him.

"Alright, Fonzarelli, you've got two seconds to --" Kensington started, but was interrupted.

"That's enough, Barry," Hunt said, and put his arm across his underling's path to prevent him from lunging at Fonzie. "What makes you so sure this was a murder, Fonz? You haven't even seen the crime scene!"

Fonzie snickered. '_Barry?'_ he thought to himself, and suppressed a chuckle. Regaining his composure, he replied, "Call it Fonzarelli intuition, sir."

"Alright, let's see some proof, smart guy," Kensington piped up, and Hunt sent him a glare that said 'Watch it, or you're fired.'

"Sure, gentlemen, if you'll follow me," Fonzie replied, and walked over to the body. "Now, you'll notice the victim has scratch marks on his hands that are consistent with the jagged edges of the broken champagne bottle.

"I thought you said there were no signs of struggle?" Hunt asked Kensington.

The Lieutenant was at a loss for words, so Fonzie answered for him. "Apparently, Mr. Kensington here needs a refresher course in evidence gathering, or whatever the technical term is."

Needless to say, Kensington started fuming. But, before he could start mouthing off to Fonzie, The Fonz started up again.

"Now, you'll also notice that his hat was pulled down over his face, in a desperate attempt to hide the fact that the victim had a scared expression on his face. Now, if you can tell me why someone would look scared during a suicide, then I'll walk out of here right now and not so much as cross your paths again," Fonzie challenged.

Kensington cursed under his breath. The one chance he had to do away with his nemesis, and they both knew that there's no good reason for a suicide victim to look scared.

"Alright, Fonz, we've established that it was a murder, not a suicide. What next?" Hunt asked. The surrounding police force was shocked. Hunt was always the one giving orders, no matter how harsh. Now he was taking them from an amateur? It wasn't right.

"Well, I saw Malph walkin' down the hall in a state, so I figure he was the one who found this scene. And dollars to donuts you interviewed him already. Am I right?"

"Amazing, Fonz!" Hunt exclaimed, "How could you possibly know all that?"

"Like I said, Fonzarelli intuition. Anyway, the next step would be to interview some of the residents, try and find out who this guy is. I'd like to start out with Chachi, since he knows the owners of these apartments."

"Alright, let's go, then," Hunt said, standing up. "Stay here, Kensington," he said, as Barry stood up, "Try to learn something about crime scene investigation off of these guys," and pointed at the workers collecting evidence and taking crime scene photographs.

Kensington mumbled something under his breath, and then skulked over to one of the new recruits. His voice faded as Fonzie and Hunt left the room. "I don't think we've been introduced."

"I'm new. Name's Horatio Cai. . ."

The voices could no longer be heard as the duo closed the door behind them and headed for Chachi's room. They knocked, and the door was opened, though bolted on the other side. "Oh, it's just you, Fonz." Chachi breathed a sigh of relief. He then unbolted the door and let him in.

"Alright, Chach, I guess you know what happened down there. Have you seen it?" Fonzie asked, in a comforting voice, so as not to frighten his young cousin.

"Well, no, I haven't seen it. It's kind of gruesome, isn't it?" Chachi asked, maintaining his composure for now, but Fonzie could tell he was about to start sobbing.

"Well, not really, you think you're up for a look? We need to know who this guy is, and you're our best bet if he lives here." Fonzie asked slowly.

Chachi's eyes widened, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He really didn't want to see that place. Just the thought of a killer in their midst sent shivers down his spine.

"That won't be necessary, Fonzie," Hunt piped up. "Kensington's good for something, after all." He proceeded to pull an old leather wallet from his pocket. "Found it on the guy. There's no ID, but there's a picture of the guy. Son, do you think you could look at this for us?"

"Well, that'd be alright," Chachi breathed a sigh of relief. He studied the picture for almost thirty seconds. "Nope, never met the guy," he stated after his thorough examination.

"Thanks, kid, we'll be in touch," Fonzie told Chachi, and the two men left.

"If the guy didn't live here, then why was the body here?" Hunt asked nobody in particular.

"If he didn't live here, then the killer did. That's why."


	3. Arnold's

A/N: "Woah!" as the legendary Fonz would say. It's been a whole seven months since I updated. I'm sure my less than five fans are less than impressed. Sorry about the wait, but I stopped FF-ing since the summer. And don't be too surprised if I don't update for another long time, but I'll try to shorten the gap.

Also, if there's a hole in the plotline, notify me, since I myself may have forgotten some of the details since back when I wrote the last chapter.

But, I ramble. Without further ado, here's chapter 3.

Disclaimer: I own the story. Not the characters. Except those that I made up.

* * *

Fonzie and "The Comish," as Fonzie had begun to call him, were at Arnold's discussing the case.

"Here ya are, fellas. Two orders of curly fries and two malts," Al called as he brought them some food.

"Thanks, Al," Fonzie replied. "Do me a favour, put it on my tab."

"Sure thing, Fonz," Al said, and waddled back into the kitchen.

"So, you got any leads?" Hunt asked as he picked up a fry between his index and middle finger, then ate it.

"Well, Comish," Fonzie said, "How 'bout sneakin' me a peek at that ol' wallet over there?"

"Sure," Hunt replied, and pulled it out of the inside pocket of his trenchcoat.

"Just as I suspected," Fonzie exclaimed.

"Whatcha got, Fonz?"

"One business card," Fonzie replied. "Says here he works at the funeral home downtown. Oh, how I love the irony."

"The funeral home?" Hunt asked. "Hey, if memory serves, you caught a couple o' crooks there, didn't you?"

"That I did," Fonzie replied, smiling and looking down at his fingernails in the way that he does when being modest.

"Well, let's get over there," Hunt said, but as they got up, the Commissioner's pager went off.

"It's the doc, he's finished the autopsy."

"Hey, Al. Wrap these fries up, we're takin' 'em to go."

* * *

A/N: So, what'll happen back at HQ? You'll have to wait and find out. And review me with ideas or suggestions, since I don't see much past chapter 5 at the moment.

The commissioner has a pager in the 50's. I know, farfetched. But, y'know, it's a fictional story. So don't yell at me.


End file.
